Being A Mentor
by Misia12345
Summary: *ON HIATUS UNTIL JULY 2012* This is the story of what would have happened had there been no rebellion, and if the Quarter Quell competitors had not been reaped from the existing pool of victors. Katniss and Peeta, along with Haymitch, must be mentors to the next set of tributes.
1. Chapter 1

_So, I always wondered what life would have been like for Katniss had she never been reaped into the Quarter Quell and had there been no rebellion, so I wrote this! The first chapter is mostly taken from Chapter 12 of Catching Fire, so you know where it starts off, Of course, I altered about two sentences to make my story happened. I obviously do not own The Hunger Games, or I would not be writing fan fiction. This is my first story on here, so I would REALLY appreciate some constructive criticism. I know that there isn't much to go by in Chapter 1, as it is mostly taken directly from the book, but it would be very appreciated in the future. I hope you enjoy reading it!_

I'm about to shut off the television, but then Caesar is telling us to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!" "What will they do?" asks Prim. "It isn't for months yet. We turn to our mother, whose expression is solemn and distant, as if she's remembering something. "It must be the reading of the card." The anthem plays, and my throat tightens with revulsion as President Snow takes the stage. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box. The anthem ends, and President Snow begins to speak, to remind us all of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

These words could not be more pointed, since I suspect several districts are rebelling right now. President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it." I wonder how that would have felt. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by your own neighbors than have your name drawn from the reaping ball. "On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." I imagine facing a field of forty-seven instead of twenty-three. Worse odds, less hope, and ultimately more dead kids. That was the year Haymitch won... "I had a friend who went that year," says my mother quietly. "Maysilee Donner. Her parents owned the sweetshop. They gave me her songbird after. A canary." Prim and I exchange a look. It's the first we've ever heard of Maysilee Donner. Maybe because my mother knew we would want to know how she died. "And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," says the president. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. We can see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. Whoever devised the Quarter Quell system had prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even those that are older cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the ages of 15 to 21."

Right away, I thought of Prim. She would be safe this year. I thought of all of Gale's siblings. They were safe. Gale. Oh my god, Gale. He was 19. His name would go into the reaping ball again. His name will be in there 43 times.

"In addition," says President Snow, "those 18 years and older will have their entries doubled. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." And with that, the television goes to a commercial about a music player that can wash dishes. Gale's name will be in the reaping ball 86 times. The odds are not in his favor.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of the reaping, I am overcome with nerves and nausea. I don't want to go to the reaping, and see the faces of those who thought they were safe. There will be people who will have their names in the reaping ball over a hundred times, and I bet a quiver of arrows that it is eating them alive.

When Peeta and I take our places on stage along with Mayor Undersee, I see many familiar faces in the crowd. I see Gale. I see Madge. I even see Prim, though she is in the back, with my mother and the Hawthornes. I look over to Peeta, who is practically shaking. I was well aware that both of his brothers were in the reaping this year, and the older of the two, Bannock, had nearly forty entries. This came as a surprise. I had always assumed that, being the baker's kids, the Mellark brothers had never had to take out any tessarae. Muffin (whose real name was Maurice, but that had been his nickname since he was a baby), at only 15 years old, had a solid 10 slips in there. Though 10 was nothing compared to what some of the others had, I was careful not to underestimate even one slip after Prim's drawing last year.

Effie, in her usual pompous and cheerful manner, went on and on about the honor of representing District 12 in not only the Hunger Games, but the grand Quarter Quell. As always, with a, "Ladies first," she skipped over to the girls' reaping ball, and snatched up a piece of paper with some unlucky girl's name on it.

"Elena Carmany." She was a 20ear old from the Seam. I didn't know her too well, but I knew she was Greasy Sae's niece, and sometimes traded with her when she was helping her aunt out in the Hob. She was nice enough, but you can tell that she's seen more than anyone only her age should just by looking into her eyes. She came up on stage, and Haymitch rolled his eyes at her crying. "Looks like we've got ourselves a crier," he muttered. Effie then went over to the boys' reaping ball. _Please not Gale. Please not Gale._

"Aaron Starch." It wasn't Gale. It was, however, one of his friends from school and the mines. In fact, after me, he was probably Gale's best friend. He was the butcher's son. He was only 19. The two tributes shake hands, and are taken to the rooms where they are to say their goodbyes.

"So what do you guys think of our tributes this year?" Peeta asks later on the train. We are there before the tributes, and have a few spare minutes to talk privately. Peeta wanted to get right down to strategy.

"The boy might have a chance, if he has it in him," offers Haymitch, "but the girl is hopeless."

"Hopeless?" I ask.

"Hopeless. She'll go mad within the first few days."

"How can you say that? You barely even saw her!"

"Katniss, I think maybe Haymitch is-"

Effie walks in with Aaron and Elena. It will be a bit weird to be their mentor, since both are older and bigger than I am. Elena, though very slender and wispy, has to be around 6 feet tall, and Aaron very packed up, which makes sense considering he's from town and has been eating mostly meat his whole life.

Aaron looks very angry, so much that I am slightly afraid. I unconsciously scoot closer to Peeta. Elena's face is swollen, covered in tears, and all red. Well, Haymitch was right about the crying. I bet the press got a great shot of her. Lovely. People will think she's weak before we even get to the Capitol! We all go to our rooms, with Effie calling after s to be ready for dinner.

When I go to my room, I see Peeta inside, preparing for a shower.

"Um, is there something you wanted?"

"Well, I want to know what you're doing in my room." I say.

"Your room?"

I see an attendant in the hall.

"Hey, is there a mix up in the rooms? We seem to have been assigned to the same one."

"No mix up, Miss Everdeen. We assumed that since you and Mr. Mellark are engaged, you would be sharing a room." With that, he left. There goes any time I had been planning to spend alone. _Ever since this stupid 'star-crossed lovers' garbage started, I haven't had even a stinking minute to myself._

"You take really long in there." I say in an annoyed tone when he gets out of the bathroom. I know it is unfair to take my irritation out on Peeta, but the whole romance thing can trace right back to him. Peeta looks like he is about to say he's sorry when I cut him off.

"No, don't apologize." I sigh. "I'm just really…frustrated. I'm sorry."

He sits down next to me on the huge bed. Well, it _is_ made for two.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Suddenly, I am very aware that I had Peeta sitting next to me in nothing but a towel, still a bit wet from his shower. I jolt up, stammer out a "no" and rush into the bathroom. The past year has been very confusing for me with Peeta. There is my pretend engagement with Peeta, who the whole of Panem thought I was in love with. Then there's Gale, my pretend cousin, who had kissed me a few weeks ago. If I want us all to stay alive, I have to marry Peeta anyway. But what about Gale? I didn't know what I feel for whom. I know Gale is my best Friend, though. I'm still not quite sure what Peeta is to me.

After showering and getting dressed, Peeta and I head to dinner. Haymitch is already there, gulping down a bottle of who-knows-what. Effie walks in with our tributes as Haymitch is explaining to us how to get sponsors and socialize properly with the Capitol people. They serve us a hearty steak with various sauces and seasonings. Elena wolfs it down as if she had never eaten before. Well, I suppose she hasn't – nor properly, at least. Aaron kind of pokes his, not sure what to make of it.

"It's not poisoned, you know." I say with to him. What is it not good enough or something?

"I know, but what are all these…things on it? The green spots and the watery stuff…?"

Now I see. Even though he grew up as the butcher's son, he never had anything this extravagant before. I sure understand the feeling. I laugh a bit and Peeta kindly explains it to him. Haymitch rolls his eyes, and Effie looks at Elena with horror at her lack of ability to use a fork and knife.

When we're eating something called a Boston Crème Pie, Elena asks us, "So, what are we supposed to do in this whole Quarter Quell thing? I'm pretty much useless when it comes to fighting. " I wasn't sure if this was true. Elena was known to be good at getting what she wanted, especially out of boys. And I've seen her run. She's fast.

"How about you, boy? Good at anything?" Haymitch is completely drunk by now.

"I can cut up an animal. My dad used to make me catch the pigs when it's time to butcher them, and I had to kill them when I was older. Is that useful?"

"Very."

"Aaron, I have a question. If you're from town, and you can simply work at the butcher's, why do you work in the mines?"

"Well, I don't really enjoy the killing. It makes me…queasy." He smiles regretfully. With that, Haymitch starts another bottle. Though only Peeta and I know, Haymitch has given up on these two. I grimace internally. This will be much, much harder than I thought.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for the reviews and such! I really appreciate them, and everyone's interest in the story!_

_To TheEffectsSheCanHave – I will try my best!_

_To chillyM – Thanks! I was thinking of reaping Gale, but then I had that exact thought._

_To Chocoloco7100 – Thanks for reading, babe!_

_In addition, if anyone has any ideas about things like the Arena, the new characters' personalities, or anything else, please either post it in a review or message me, or whatever you like, as I could use all the help I could get. I am hoping this turns out novel length, or somewhere around there, so fresh ideas are always helpful, whether now or in the future. Anyway, sorry for the long note and here is Chapter 3!_

When I wake up the next morning, I wake up to the sound of Peeta quietly snoring next to me, and a waiting Elena sitting on the floor next to my bed. I jump quickly, but am in the right mind to know not to scream.

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in?" I hiss. Elena must have been really quiet. This could be useful. Though it's not at the front of my mind right now, it scares me a little that already I'm thinking of strategy, and winning, as opposed to the tributes as scared kids. Well, they're older than I am, and they're not really kids, but the point stands.

She's wearing a fitted black shirt and black leggings. With her long, thin limbs, she almost looks like a spider.

"I talked to that servant outside. He needed a little persuasion, but he let me in. Listen, you three are supposed to mentor us. Before, if it were still just Haymitch, I would have accepted my death and tried to enjoy the luxuries here, but last year you got out alive. Not just you, but Peeta, too. If you can get two tributes out in one year, having only the drunk to fall back on, then you can get Aaron and me out, too. I know I can't do much, but that doesn't mean anybody has the right to give up on me, or Aaron."

I am stunned by her determination. She clearly has passion. She clearly wants to get home. She also clearly will not be willing to give up.

"While I admire your motivation on the matter, couldn't this have waited until later?"

"No. I don't think the others, Haymitch especially, ill take me seriously, and wanted to get you alone. So are you going to help us or not?" I hesitated. As much as I wanted to, it struck me that I honestly had no idea about what I was doing. Haymitch might, but he'll need convincing. The fact that Peeta and I actually had some brute strength and wit is what drove him to actually do his job as our mentor, but would he give Aaron and Elena a chance?

"Tell you what - if Aaron is up for all this, then we have a deal, but it's on him." Though I could tell that this was not what she had wanted to hear, she nodded and left the room. Peeta, of course, sleeps like a rock.

After an hour of Haymitch protesting, Peeta reasoning, and me yelling, we finally get Haymitch on board with the idea. We will train Aaron and Elena. We will get one of them home.

First thing's first, we need to find out how they're going to play this. Peeta and I sort of made it up as we went along, and while it worked, it wasn't really the best strategy. We decide to present them as a team again, as Peeta and I were last year, but without any romantic ties. While the Capitol people love a sappy love story, we can't sell that again convincingly, especially since Elena has the attention span of a goldfish.

Aaron, though skilled as, essentially, a killer and a man who knows how to find a proper helping of meat, would be able to sell the whole "ruthless" angle, if it were not for his weak stomach. Elena, while manipulative and fierce when she really wants to be, hasn't got a clue about what is going on around her. We don't quite know what to do with this. We have to somehow work with their strengths and hide their weaknesses, for the time being.

Soon enough, we arrive at the Capitol. This is where the stylists take over. This year, however, since it is the Quarter Quell, the mentors get to go in, too. Haymitch and Peeta go with Aaron, and I go with Elena. I hold her hand while she gets waxed, plucked, and practically skinned alive by the prep team. She takes it though, which is good. While she soaks after the initial waxing and whatnot, I go see Cinna.

We hug right away. We haven't properly seen each other in ages, and I missed him. He was my best friend here. I hope he and Portia have some sort of miracle planned for our tributes, because I have no idea what I would do to top last year's outfits. He assures me, though, that I have nothing to worry about.

Later, at the area where all the tributes meet to get into their carriages, I finally see the outfits. I'm blown away. They are phenomenal. They are beautiful. They are perfect. I literally cannot speak as I look at the outfits in front of me.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys! Before I start, I have four things to say:**_

_First off, **thank you** very much **to Funkypurplehino** for pointing out my errors with the rooms, and for the new paragraph per speaker. I had typed it up on various devices, so formatting had gotten a bit lost in the process, but I will pay more attention to that from here on out. I have edited the previous chapter a bit to keep it consistent. Thanks again!_

_Second, here's a link to a **dress** that I would like for you to keep in mind **before reading**. You don't have to, but I think it could help you envision the story a bit closer to what I'm aiming for:_

go to: www. quizclothing (dot) co (dot) uk

and add: /images/ac_product_images/product_image_data/resizeandpad:700:700/130330

_Third, I took a few sections directly out of **Catching Fire, Chapter 15.**_

_Lastly, do you guys think I should get a **beta?** Even where re-reading it myself, I noticed some silly mistakes that I left out in editing. I plan to make this story long, so would anyone recommend it? Do any of you have any **recommendations** for a good beta? I'm a bit shady on this process, haha._

_Anyway, **on to the story!**_

Later, at the area where all the tributes meet to get into their carriages, I finally see the outfits. I'm blown away. They are phenomenal. They are beautiful. They are perfect. I literally cannot speak as I look at the outfits in front of me.

Cinna has gone for a 21st century type of look, very vintage-inspired. Aaron is wearing a suit. It is very clean-cut, sharp, classy, and masculine. It is unlike the suits today, with broader shoulders and a more cinched waist, making Aaron look a lot more muscular and healthy than he really is. It is, of course, coal black, except for his shirt underneath, which is a deep grey. Cinna says that it is called a single-breasted suit. Whatever it is, it looks great. I hadn't realized how handsome Aaron is until now. After a good haircut and a proper wash with the stylists, even with nearly no makeup, he looks very attractive. This will be great for sponsors. I almost flinch, thinking of how slowly, I am starting to regard the opinions of the sponsors and the games as something very important. I don't want to become Haymitch.

Elena looks phenomenal. Her dress is coal black as well. It stops at a few inches above her knees, making her look long-legged and beautiful but not like a tramp. The dress is somewhat fitted, and has a neckline like the top of a heart. It is sort of a strapless dress, but it has sheer sleeves, too. They are beautiful. The sleeves look like they are covered in a fine layer of coal dust. It surprises me that something that looks so ugly all over everything in District 12 look so pretty on a dress. Her makeup is something that my prep team has done one me before, only Elena has various shades of deep, smoldering grays and blacks. I think they called it a smoky eye, and it was very popular during the late 20th and early 21st century. It looked stunning on her, with her dark skin and grey Seam eyes. Both of their outfits are radiating, like burning coal. Cinna and Portia have really outdone themselves this year.

Peeta and Haymitch walk in, but they don't see me yet, as I am behind the carriage, listening to Cinna explain Elena's 'Hollywood Waves."

I hear Peeta gasp at our tributes' outfits tonight. He starts going on about how amazing it is, and how perfect everything will be. Haymitch mutters something that sounds like, "Not bad." This is when Peeta sees me, and I see his eyes light up right away. I think I blush. He doesn't look too bad himself. The stylists were responsible for the mentors this year as well, and we all somewhat match. Peeta and Haymitch are wearing suits in similar cuts to that of Aaron's, but they are grey, resemble tuxedos a bit more, and aren't radiating. Peeta's shirt is red, to match my dress. Still, I have to admit that my boys look good. I'm wearing a loose, floor-length, one-shouldered dress. I look much older in it than I did last year. I look very grown up, and very serious, which is exactly what I need, being the youngest mentor here, along with Peeta. Our whole group looks amazing, though, even compared to some of the other Districts' outfits.

With a few wishes of good luck, and a reminder not to slouch from Effie, we head up to the balcony for all the mentors, stylists, and the like to sit and watch the procession in. Peeta holds my hand the whole time, and I am thankful to have him there.

"You look beautiful, Katniss," he tells me. I mumble out a thank you, and I feel my cheeks getting hot. I have been blushing way too much as of late.

There is still a good hour before it actually begins, but we are the last to arrive. Haymitch pulls Peeta and me to the side.

"Listen." He says, "There is going to be a whole parade of sponsors here, so I want you to be nice." He gives me a pointed look as he says this. "These people are going to give their money to someone, and you want it to be Elena and Aaron. You want one of them to win, then you will be pleasant. You will be polite. You will convince these people that District 12 will have a winner this year. You will make friends, you will not roll your eyes at them, and you will not give any of them a reason to dislike you. They gossip amongst each other, and if you do even one thing wrong to even one of these people, then we are done. Then we are sending those two off to their deaths. Now go."

With that, Peeta and I are swept into the crowd of wealthy Capitol citizens, each one a potential sponsor for District 12. I make small talk with a lot of them, and I talk to them about shoes, jewelry, my dresses, their dresses, and the wedding. It seems, with Peeta and I getting married soon, everyone is rushing to us. What is the theme? Which dress is my favorite? Am I nervous? Who will be attending? What kind of cake are we having? It goes on and on. It is a topic that is somewhat easy to discuss, though, after doing it for so long. Haymitch is at the bar in the back with some of the men, discussing who-knows-what and exchanging stories. Peeta, of course, has everyone wrapped around his finger. He tells stories of cakes and cookies, dates we never went on, and tells jokes so witty that I even laugh a little.

After a while, I am overwhelmed, and I need to sit down. As I'm taking a breath on a couch, someone plomps down next to me. My hunter's instincts go into high gear, and I almost snapped his neck before I realized who it was.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met.

"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually, although I'm feeling uncomfortable with his closeness.

"Want a sugar cube?" he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got plenty of it, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident—which may be the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena—it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days, the crown was his.

The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since.

Because of his youth, they couldn't really touch him for the first year or two. But ever since he turned sixteen, he's spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him. No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he'll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, but he never stays, and once he's gone he never comes back.

I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose.

"You're absolutely amazing in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy. But for some reason all I can think of is old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman.

"I outgrew them," I say.

Finnick takes the hem of my dress and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?" I say.

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

For some stupid reason, I blush again, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Peeta is coming. We wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea, now do we?" He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth, winks, and saunters off.

What did Finnick Odair want?" Peeta asks.

I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure. Especially you," I say.

"Oh. And why especially me?" he says with a smile.

"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."

"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "Shall we?" He holds out a hand and we head to our seats to watch the procession.

The ceremony went amazingly well! We literally had a line of Capitol people wanting to sponsor District 12, and it's only been the first day. Almost everyone there was 18 and older, except for a 16-year-old girl from District 3, and a 15-year-old boy from District 9. We weren't dealing with children this year, but we were still pretty well off.

After the ceremony, everyone but Cinna, who was still graciously accepting complements and scheduling appointments, and Haymitch, who said he'd stay behind to handle the sponsors.

Once we get back to our room, and I know that Elena's not lurking about, I embrace Peeta. Everything has been so stressful lately, and it feels good to be in his warm, comforting arms. It feels good to do it with no one around, no cameras, and no expectations on us to be the perfect happy couple that we're pretending to be. While I'm sure Peeta's not exactly devastated by the arrangement, and I know that he does love me, we are pretending. Sometimes, though, it's really nice not to pretend, not to think about what I'm doing, or what will happen. Sometimes, it's nice to give Peeta what he wants all on my own, without the weight and judgment of President Snow and the Capitol on my shoulders to make everything right. And sometimes, I want it, too.

Tentatively, I kiss Peeta, as he is still a little surprised by the hug. Slowly, he kisses back.

"Stay?" I ask him. He nods slowly, still unsure of what has gotten into me. I don't know myself. All I know is that with Aaron and Elena going into the arena soon, President Snow still wanting my neck (even though he told me that I did a wonderful job convincing Panem that Peeta and I are in love during the Victory Tour), and my upcoming wedding, I need Peeta here.


End file.
